Gospel Story Finder

When I first visited Czechoslovakia, long before the people there had freedom, I was met by Jirí Snederfler and his wife, Olga. I went to their home, which is where the Prague Branch of the Church met. On the walls were picture after picture of the Salt Lake Temple. I said to Sister Snederfler, “Your husband must truly love the temple,” and she said, “I, too; I, too.”
She brought out an album of pictures of the missionaries who were serving there in 1950, when their government required the closure of the mission. As she held up each photograph, she said, “Wonderful boy, wonderful boy!”
Brother Snederfler has always been willing to stand up for the gospel. When the Church wanted the Czechoslovakian government to again recognize it officially, the Communist leaders told us, “Don’t send an American or any other foreigner. Send a citizen of Czechoslovakia.” That was frightening because to admit then that you were a leader of any church meant that you might be in danger!
Brother Snederfler was the one chosen to go to his government. He later told me that he had asked for the prayers of the branch members. Then he went to Olga and said, “I love you. I don’t know when—or if—I’ll be back. But I love the gospel, and I must follow my Savior.” With that spirit of faith and devotion, he went to his government leaders and told them that he was the leader of the Church there and that he wanted them to again recognize it officially.
Meanwhile, Elder Russell M. Nelson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles had been working very hard to get the needed approval. It came: “Your church is again recognized in Czechoslovakia.”
Brother Snederfler eagerly went to tell Olga and the other stalwart members of the Church there that once again missionaries could come to their country and that they could again worship Heavenly Father in freedom. It was a happy day.
Jirí and Olga Snederfler later served as president and matron of the Freiberg Germany Temple, where faithful members of the Church in Germany, the Czech Republic, and nearby countries attend. They were happy to find themselves each day in the Lord’s house, which they so dearly love.

When I was taking a bath one morning I could see what I thought was a bar of soap on a shelf high above me. I reached up to grab it. Suddenly I had a strong feeling that I should not pick it up. I said to myself, “Who knows what could be up there?”
When I stood up to see what was on the shelf, I discovered that the blue and red object I had seen was not my soap but a razor. If I had grabbed it, I could have cut my hand on the sharp edge. The Holy Ghost warned me, and because I listened I wasn’t hurt.Christina G., age 8, Missouri

Raquel “Liriel” Domiciano was about to sing in front of millions of people. Was she worried about messing up? A little. Was she worried about what to wear? Naturally. But what worried her most?
Only 19 at the time, Liriel, a member of the Church for five years, wanted to stand as a witness “of God at all times and in all things, and in all places” (Mosiah 18:9).
Liriel was about to perform in Brazil’s largest televised talent competition, the Raul Gil Amateur Show. She had been told she couldn’t say anything about her religion. But she knew that many of Brazil’s Latter-day Saints would be watching, and she wanted everyone to know she wasn’t ashamed of the gospel. After praying in her room before her first performance, she looked up and saw her Young Women medallion. It was the answer she had been looking for.
Liriel wore her medallion during every level of the competition. Eventually she and her partner, tenor Rinaldo Viana, won the contest, signed a recording contract, and watched as their first CD became the second-highest classical best-seller in Brazil’s history, with more than one million copies sold.
Almost overnight, Liriel and Rinaldo were a huge hit. But Liriel’s success is based on years of preparation, during which she trained herself as a lyric soprano. She credits her participation in the Young Women program with preparing her for life.
Wearing the medallion as she performed was her way of letting people know she was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and willing to stand as a witness, even in front of millions.

While cargo was delivered and provisions replenished in Honolulu, Brooklyn passengers were free to explore the island. Hundreds of natives were waiting for us to land. They greeted us with wide smiles and twinkling black eyes.
Some of the Hawaiians came on board and were delighted when they saw the nine-month-old Kittleman twins, Hannah and Sarah, and asked to take them ashore to show them to their queen. After they had been gone for more than two hours, Sister Kittleman became alarmed, and the ship’s crew organized a posse. Just as the sailors were ready to start a search, two young girls came running toward the ship with the babies. Queen Kalama had sent many gifts for their mother.

Some years ago in the early spring, I took my little niece Shelly’s hand in mine, and for hours we carefully picked our way from one rock to the next along a creek bed shaded by some tall trees. The gurgling water was like a musical accompaniment to the dance we were creating, as we would take a step, hesitate, reach, step forward, and then wait a moment to secure our balance.

Before long, we were drawn to an open meadow where some large cottonwood trees had been recently cut. Making my way through the tall grass, I held Shelly’s hand as she cautiously placed one foot ahead of the other, walking the full length of the tree and back again. We noticed in that springtime tender green shoots forcing their way through the earthly floor, and we saw the winter snow receding toward the mountain peaks. It seemed as though all of nature bore evidence of God’s creations and his great love for us.

Our afternoon activities continued until the evening breeze reminded us that our special day was coming to a close.

Approaching the narrow, steep garden path leading to my home, I let go of Shelly’s hand, allowing her to go first. Our hands stuck together for a moment. A bond had formed from the warmth of the day through our shared adventures.

Just before reaching the clearing near the house, we stopped. Bending down, I lifted Shelly up to see into a little nest built by a robin in the branch of a tree.

At the close of this memorable day, before tucking my little niece (whom my sister shares with me) into bed, we knelt together while she expressed her own thanks which included gratitude for the creek, the slippery rocks, the big tree, and the robin’s nest. Feeling a renewed appreciation for the same wonderful blessings, I tucked the covers around her and bent down for a goodnight kiss. Reaching up, placing both arms around my neck, and pulling me close to her, Shelly whispered, “I wish we were in the same family.”

“Shelly, my dear,” I quickly explained, “we are in the same family.”

“No, I mean the very same family. My last name is Larsen and your last name is Kapp, and that isn’t the same. I mean, if you were my sister and we had the very same last name.”

Even though she was very young, I felt that she might sense security in our eternal relationship if I could somehow awaken within her a great eternal truth.

“Shelly, we really are in the very same family. You see, we are all our Heavenly Father’s children, every one of us, and that makes us members of one great family. We are brothers and sisters, and Jesus is our brother, too, our elder brother.”

“Then what is Jesus’ last name?” she asked.

“Shelly, we know our Savior as Jesus the Christ.” With the pure innocence of youth, she began to make us all one family by linking my first name with the surname “The Christ.”

“Oh, no, my dear! We don’t put our names together like that.”

“But why not?” she asked. Wanting her to be aware of the sacredness of our relationship with the Savior, I tried to explain: “I guess maybe it’s because sometimes we are not good enough. I don’t feel worthy yet.”

With that, she raised up on her elbow. “What do you do that’s wrong? Why don’t you stop doing it, and then we can all be in the same family? We can all use His name.”

I pondered the answer to her simple questions. I heard in my mind words as though I was hearing them for the first time. And yet, it had been only two days since I had attended sacrament meeting where I had listened to the same words. I had heard them with my ears so often before, but now it seemed different. It was as though I was hearing them with my whole heart and soul: “… that they are willing to take upon them the name of thy Son, and always remember him and keep his commandments which he has given them …” (D&C 20:77).

Wasn’t this the very thing that we were talking about—the responsibility of taking upon ourselves that sacred name and committing to try always to remember Him and keep His commandments?

While Shelly seemed secure and satisfied with the explanation given her at that time, over the years I have searched for deeper understanding of this sacred ordinance in which we renew our covenant each week to take upon ourselves His name. And while that usually occurs on Sunday, what does it mean on weekdays, and what difference does it make to a child, a youth, or an adult? Does it affect how we live our lives in the summer, winter, or fall? Should it? Can we afford to consider this sacred ordinance passively and allow it to become routine in nature?

I would now say to Shelly, “Yes, my dear, put my name with the Savior’s.” He said we could. He wants us to. He wants us to feel comfortable carrying his name.

As I held Shelly’s little hand in mine for one last squeeze before tiptoeing from her room that evening some years ago, a feeling of gratitude and reverence came flooding forth as I realized that while her hand had been in mine for most of the afternoon as I helped her through the creek, across the rocks, and over the tree and lifted her up to see the miracle of life unfolding in a robin’s nest, this child led me to begin a search that would lead me to a better understanding of a great eternal truth. King Benjamin explained it for us: “And now, because of the covenant which ye have made ye shall be called the children of Christ, his sons, and his daughters; for behold, this day he hath spiritually begotten you; for ye say that your hearts are changed through faith on his name; therefore, ye are born of him and have become his sons and his daughters” (Mosiah 5:7).

We can all be members of the same family. If you’re doing something you shouldn’t, consider Shelly’s question to me: Why don’t you stop? It may not always be easy, but with his help we can overcome.

Sig Verano had emigrated from his native Colombia, South America, to California, in 1963. Ana, the girl he was growing to love, was temporarily left behind while he began preparing to support himself, and possibly a family, in his new country.
He had received only three years of formal schooling in Colombia and spoke little English. In Los Angeles, California, his first job was making hats at the minimum legal wage, so he studied newspaper advertisements looking for something that would pay more. He spotted a training course for a “machinist.” The pay looked good, and in South America, a maquinista—train engineer—had regular employment, so he enrolled.
Sig did well in the course, but inquired after some time when they were going to get to the “big machines.” Be patient, he was told—that would come after the training. Toward the end of the training, he still had not seen a train engine. One day, he asked a co-worker how much they would travel in their future jobs. “What does travel have to do with this work?” the co-worker replied. After some confusing discussion, Sig finally asked, exasperated, “Will you please tell me exactly what we are learning?”
But Sig’s new job as a machinist was enough to provide the support he and Ana would need. They had continued their courtship by mail and were married by proxy in 1964. She emigrated to the United States in 1965. Edison, the first of their children, was born in 1966, followed by Julie in 1968 and Marbell in 1972.

I’m writing this to “Saying no in Utah” and “All alone” in the September 1988 Feedback. I first want to say that both of you are awesome, and I love you.
You see, I lived in California and Arizona until I was 16, and it was easy to say no, and when I did that I gained people’s respect. But at 16 I moved to Utah, thinking what most people think—that it was going to be Zion. I found out real quick that I was wrong. I still said no to my new friends (who were LDS) and got laughed at. I soon found myself with no friends. I was all alone. But after prayer, lots of prayer, I found four more people who were in the same boat. To the person who wrote “All alone,” there are lots of others in Utah like you, so get on your knees and find them.
I’m serving as a missionary now, and I’ve learned that people have the same idea about missionaries as they do about Utah. But now I can say no and keep my friends. The gospel is true.
Elder Darrin Van ValkenburgCalifornia Santa Rosa Mission

Duffie and Victor Hurtado’s friendship developed through their acquaintance in the choir, and they eventually married. Singing together in the choir is a “beautiful experience” although it does create some hardships on the family with both parents being away. However, the Hurtados have largely solved that problem as Victor’s mother, who, like Victor, joined the Church in Peru, lives with them. She cares for the two children when Victor and Duffie are rehearsing or performing with the choir.

Eleven-year-old Christine hurried out of the gas station. She knew she needed to be fast—her family was waiting. She threaded her way through the aisles and out the doors. She stopped.
They were gone!
At the gas pump where her family’s beige van had been was a small red sports car. Her stomach flipped. “Where are they?” she asked herself, trying not to panic.
She scanned all of the parking spaces. No van and no family. She walked around to the other side of the gas station to check the gasoline pumps there. Several 18-wheeler trucks were filling up with diesel fuel. “The van would be hard to miss,” she thought. “A beige 15-passenger van pulling a trailer isn’t going to just disappear.”
She looked toward the highway. A green car followed by a blue minivan zoomed past. Other cars hurried on to their destinations. Still no sign of her family’s van.
Only ten minutes before, Christine had jumped out of the van at the gas station. Dad had been filling it up with gas, her younger brothers had been trying to clean its almost-too-tall windows, and Mom had been coming back from taking three-year-old Mark to the rest room. Mom had told everyone that if they needed to use the rest room, they’d better do it now.
Her family was driving to Utah for a family reunion, and they had only started their two-day drive that morning. Christine knew that the next time they’d stop would be for lunch, so she had run inside to use the rest room.
She walked around the gas station once more, hoping to see them. Vehicles of all sizes were coming and going, but none of them looked like her family’s van.
Feeling very alone, she walked to the back of the gas station and saw a covered deck and several picnic tables. She slowly climbed the steps to the deck and sat down. From here she could see all the highway traffic.
Fear crept into her heart as she watched people coming and going. “I hope nothing is wrong with them,” she thought. “I hope that they miss me soon.”
A small rainstorm passed by. She moved to a different corner of the picnic area so that she wouldn’t get wet.
She bowed her head and whispered, “Dear Heavenly Father, please bless my family to come back and get me. Please bless that they are OK. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
When Christine looked up, the rainstorm had cleared and the sun was out. Her fear and loneliness left, and she felt that her family would be back for her soon.
After walking around the gas station again to see if she had missed seeing them return, she went back to the deck, sat down, and waited. Remembering the feeling that she had felt after praying, she stopped fretting.
Soon, a beige 15-passenger van pulling a trailer came down the highway. God had answered her prayer.
She ran to the front of the gas station to meet her family. They pulled up, and she jumped into the van to the welcoming chorus of her brothers and sisters.
Mom turned sideways in the front seat to give her a hug. “I’m so glad you’re OK. When we realized you had been left behind, we were so worried!”
“Well, I’m OK. I said a prayer that you would come back,” Christine replied.
“I’m glad you remembered to pray,” Mom said. “From now on we’ll be more careful to not leave anyone behind.”
Christine looked out the window as the gas station gradually disappeared. Silently she thanked Heavenly Father for bringing her family back to get her.

My husband’s graduate school had been expensive, so we looked forward to a job that would help us pay off our debts. We were offered several positions but felt best about a professorship in Hawaii. However, when our contract arrived, the salary was lower than we had discussed. We were informed that there was a new policy and negotiation was not an option. We had felt sure about the new job, so we signed the contract anyway.
We loved Hawaii, my husband loved his job, and we were blessed as a family. Things seemed to be going well with our student-debt payments until the credit card company informed us that our new interest rate would be 14 percent instead of our current 3 percent. We argued that we always made our payments on time and that had paid down a lot of the debt already. But the company was adamant.
First, we did some creative financing, transferring our balance to different credit cards with short-term zero percent interest rates. Then we started cutting costs. We drastically reduced our food, clothing, and diapers budget for our seven-person family. We lived on our food storage. Every morning we ate oatmeal; every afternoon we ate homemade bread; and every evening we ate rice and beans. There were no luxuries such as butter, fresh milk, or juice. After we paid tithing and basic expenses, all of our income went to paying off our credit cards.
Six months later, we had paid off 90 percent of our debt! The Lord had multiplied our income in miraculous ways. We were able to quickly pay off the remaining debt, and we are very thankful. My daughter still complains about when she had to eat oatmeal every morning, but I know that by paying our tithing and obeying the prophet, we were blessed financially and temporally.

The sun was shining brightly, but the day might as well have been gloomy. I sat on the porch steps with my chin in my hand, watching leaves scurry across the grass. No one would help me! Not Jeff, who hurried off to a part-time job after school. Not Mom and Dad, who were busy in the house. Not anyone! Then I saw Grandma riding her bike up the lane. “Hi, Grandma!” I jumped up and ran to meet her.
She grinned and waved. “Hi, Sheri!” she called. “What are you doing, honey?”
“Nothing!” I replied bitterly.
She got off her bike and kissed me. “What would you like to do?”
“Learn how to catch a ball, Grandma. The kids at school can all catch a ball, and all I do is drop it!”
“You’re an expert cookie maker,” she said, taking my hand and walking toward the house.
I shook my head, frowning. “You make the cookies—I just put the icing on.”
“We’re partners. I do one part, and you do the other. Right?”
I nodded. “Right! But, Grandma, cookies don’t have anything to do with catching a ball.”
She stopped and looked hard at me. “You’re absolutely right! OK, partner, let’s do something about it.”
When Grandma makes up her mind to do something, it’s almost done!
“Ellen?” Grandma called. “Yoo-hoo!”
“In here, Mother,” Mom answered from the kitchen.
They kissed each other; then Grandma took two pieces of cucumber from the salad bowl and handed one to me. “Is there a ball and mitt around here?” she asked.
“Probably in the cellar,” Mom replied. “Why?”
“Sheri is going to learn how to catch,” Grandma said.
Mom grinned as Grandma and I, armed with the ball and baseball glove, headed for the fields.
“OK,” Grandma said, “concentrate on where I’m throwing the ball. Catch it in your glove, and cover it with your other hand so that it doesn’t fall out.”
She swung her arm back and brought it forward slowly. The ball swooped through the air toward me. I stuck out my arm with the mitt on my hand and closed my eyes. When I opened them, the ball was lying on the ground, the same as it always did at recess. “I’ll never learn!” I moaned.
Grandma laughed. “Everyone closes his eyes in the beginning. Now you have to learn to keep them open and watch the ball. It can’t hit you if you’re watching it and catch it.”
I tried again. When I saw the ball coming, I started to close my eyes, then remembered what Grandma had said. I grimaced (in case it did hit me), but I watched it through my squinted eyes. Suddenly it landed right in the pocket of my glove! I jumped up and down and shouted, “I did it! I did it!”
“Of course you did! All you need is practice.”
“Will you practice with me, Grandma?”
“As long as the weather’s good, we’ll practice every day, partner,” she promised.
“Where’d you learn to catch?” I asked later, when we started home.
“My brothers and I were so close in age, that I had to learn!” Grandma chuckled. “Before long I could throw straighter and farther than any of my brothers. And I could catch any ball that they threw—without a mitt!”
“You didn’t have a mitt?”
“I always wanted one, but I never did get one,” she replied a bit wistfully.
We kept on practicing, and I got to be pretty good. Then one morning when I woke up, there was snow on the ground. Soon I saw Grandma coming along the lane, pulling a sled! I giggled and tapped on the window. She waved, motioning for me to come outside.
“Mom, Grandma wants me to go out and play. Is it OK?”
“Of course, Sheri, but bundle up. If I know your grandmother, she’s off to the big hill to go sledding.” Mom waved out the window to Grandma.
Grandma and I snuggled on her long sled as it sailed down toward the pines. We zoomed around them, jetted through the opening in the fence, and sped on toward the meadow. We bumped over a rut, dodged a stump, and finally slowed to a stop not too far from the stream. The icy water gurgled past snowcapped stones, and Grandma pointed silently upstream. A deer stood beside the water, staring at us quietly. Then it turned and bounded into a thicket. Our long walk back up the hill began. As we walked, we talked.
“Are you excited about Christmas?” Grandma asked.
I nodded.
“So am I, partner,” she said happily. “I’m counting on you to help me bake cookies again, you know,” she added quickly.
I grinned. It was fun being partners with Grandma.
Mom let me go Christmas shopping alone that year. I bought Jeff a book, Mom a scarf, and Dad gloves. They were easy to shop for. But Grandma … Well, it seemed like Grandma had everything! I walked around the mall, looking at everything, but nothing seemed to be right. I wanted something special for Grandma.
Then I found it! When I got home and showed everyone my gift for Grandma, Jeff laughed, Mom shook her head and smiled, and Dad just nodded. As I wrapped it, I began to worry. Would Grandma really like it?
I sat at the window and looked toward Grandma’s house. I could imagine her sitting by her fire, rocking and peeling apples for a pie. She would be singing, and her cat would be purring. Yes, I thought as I finished wrapping her gift, Grandma will like it.
On Christmas Eve we all sat around Grandma’s cozy fire. Christmas lights sparkled on the tree and in the windows, and her house smelled like cinnamon and pinecones. As I handed Grandma her gift, my heart pounded wildly. Please like it, I pleaded silently.
Grandma slid a finger under the tape and removed the wrapping without saying a word. When she opened the lid, her mouth fell open. Then she hugged me fiercely, and I knew that it was fine.
Later, when the others were in the kitchen, Grandma and I sat quietly watching the fire together. She slid an arm around me and pulled me closer and said, “Your gift was the best of all, honey.” Then she lifted her other arm and gazed at the mitt still on her hand. “It’s what I’ve always wanted. Thank you.”

Roger met Janey at Welfare Square. Let me tell you about Janey.
She had been born with cerebral palsy. She was badly crippled, but she had been able to attend school and had recently graduated from high school. This was a tremendous accomplishment; but now, after several months of searching, her family had found it impossible to obtain employment for her. Her bishop asked if there was something Janey could do. She needed to keep busy. In answer to this challenge, the storehousekeeper suggested that Janey be brought to the storehouse the next morning.
After Janey had been at work seven hours, her mother came to take her home. Janey was smiling with pride. She had labeled a dozen cans. There was a pile of spoiled labels on the floor, but they weren’t important. The important thing was her smile. It was there because she felt useful and had pride in her accomplishment. She was willing and anxious to return the next day and continue trying.
Within a month’s time, Janey was doing a good job of labeling cans. She hardly wasted any labels. As her skill in using her hands increased, she was given greater challenges. At the end of three years she was assigned the delicate job of packing eggs after they had been candled.
Janey and her family are truly happy because she has learned through the welfare program to be a contributing member of society.
Roger and Janey fell in love with each other and were married in the Salt Lake Temple for time and all eternity.

When I was a new ninth-grade high school student, my English teacher announced that we were going to watch a movie as part of our study of Shakespeare and his works. She told us the movie was R-rated and asked if anyone had any objections. I built up the courage to raise my hand and told my teacher that I did not watch R-rated movies. My face felt like it was about to burst and my whole body felt like it was sweating, but inside I knew I had done the right thing. My objection seemed to silence the class, and I felt everyone’s eyes on me.
Later, my teacher questioned me further on the subject, and I told her that I would not watch the movie. My teacher left it up to me to choose between watching the movie she selected or accepting a lower grade for the assignment.
On the day before the movie was scheduled to be shown, I thought I was going to have to walk out of class and take the grade penalty. When my teacher announced that she had decided to show a different version of the movie, I felt relieved. There was plenty of moaning and whining from many of the students because of the change in plans. I thought everyone would be mad at me.
Instead, the students quickly quieted down, and my friends called me over to sit with them. Their support made me feel great. After class, I thanked my teacher for her decision to show an appropriate version of the movie.
I’m thankful for the standards of the Church. I know that when we keep high standards, we can make a difference in the world in our own small ways.

As you trust in the Lord and His goodness, the Almighty God will bless His children through you. Elder Hollings from Nevada learned that early in his mission. The day after he arrived in India, he traveled with Sister Funk and me to Rajahmundry, his first area. That afternoon Elder Hollings and Elder Ganaparam went to visit a Church member and her mother. The mother wanted to learn about the Church because she had seen how the gospel blessed the life of her daughter. Sister Funk joined them to provide fellowship. Because the lesson would be taught in English and the mother spoke only Telugu, a brother in the branch was there to interpret what was taught.

Elder Hollings’s assignment in his very first teaching appointment was to teach the First Vision, using the words of the Prophet Joseph. At that point in the lesson, he turned to Sister Funk and asked, “Should I say it word for word?” knowing it would be interpreted.

She replied, “Say it word for word so the Spirit can testify of what you say.”

When this new missionary sincerely taught the First Vision, using the words of the Prophet, the countenance of that dear sister changed. Tears appeared. As Elder Hollings finished that glorious message and before what he said could be interpreted, she asked through her tears in her native language, “May I be baptized? And will you teach my son?”

My young fellow servants, doors and hearts open daily to the gospel message—a message that brings hope and peace and joy to the children of God throughout the world. If you are humble and obedient and hearken to the voice of the Spirit, you will find great happiness in your service as a missionary. What a wonderful season it is to be a missionary—a time when the Lord is hastening His work!

“We have found that the young, single sisters are some of the biggest helps in the stake,” says Sister Keeney. “They are always looking for ways to help the sisters through service. One time we needed someone to come teach the Korean sisters in the stake how to make hamburgers and hot dogs and pizza, because their children were asking for American food, and the mothers didn’t know how to prepare it. So the young, single sisters showed them how, and they were really edified to be able to serve in that manner.”

Ethan loved everything about baseball—being in the field, batting, even stretching to warm up. This year, he had spent hours with his dad throwing pitches. He had read and studied and practiced until he was one of the best players on his team.
And his hard work had paid off. He had been invited to pitch for the league’s honors team. That meant his season would last four weeks longer.
But when Ethan saw the team schedule, he felt his stomach sink clear down to the tips of his toes. More than half the games were scheduled for Sundays.
His mother gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze. “Oh, Ethan. I’m sorry,” she said.
Ethan knew that his family didn’t play sports on Sundays, but this was honors! It was a big deal!
“So I can’t play?” he asked, trying not to sound too much like he was begging. Maybe he could make an exception, just this once. Next season he could go back to not playing on Sundays.
“Why don’t you think about it and pray about it?” Mom suggested.
Ethan nodded. He hated to admit it, but he already knew that keeping the Sabbath day holy was more important than any sports game.
By bedtime Ethan had his answer. He wouldn’t play in the Sunday games, so he would turn down the invitation to play on the honors team.
Still disappointed, he knelt next to his bed and said a prayer. He didn’t ask if he should play baseball on Sunday; he already knew the answer was no. Instead, he pleaded, “If there’s a way I can play honors, please help me find it. I really want to play, but I won’t play on Sunday.”
The next afternoon while the team was warming up for their game, Ethan pulled his coach aside. “Coach, I’m happy you asked me to play on the honors team, but I don’t play ball on Sundays,” he said.
“What if you just played the other games?” his coach asked.
Ethan shook his head. “It wouldn’t be fair since I’d be gone more than half the time.”
“OK, Ethan. I understand. I’m sorry you can’t play, but I respect your decision.”
Ethan was glad his coach didn’t seem angry or disappointed. Now that he had made the choice, Ethan felt like a weight had been lifted from him. He knew he was good enough to play on the team, and that would have to be enough for him.
Toward the end of the season, the coach called Ethan away from practice. “Ethan, the other coaches and I think you have earned a spot on the honors team,” the coach said. “We did some rearranging and managed to get it so we only have one game on Sunday. No one expects you to play that game. Would you be willing to play on the team?”
Ethan stared at his coach in shock before yelling, “Yes!” He felt like he was flying as he ran to join his team, knowing he had four more weeks of games ahead of him.
That night he knelt by his bed again and thanked Heavenly Father for giving him the courage to do what he knew was right. “And for letting me play honors,” he added.

Elisa walked into Primary and sat by her friend Armando.
“Welcome!” Sister Russo said. “Let’s start with a song.”
Elisa sang with her class. “Faith is like a little seed: if planted, it will grow” (Children’s Songbook, 96).
Sister Russo passed out paper and crayons. “Think about what we sang,” she said. “When you plant your seed of faith, it grows into a testimony. Now draw what your testimony would look like if it were a plant.”
Elisa stared at her blank paper. She didn’t know what to draw. She peeked at the plant Armando was drawing. It had a straight stem with lots of leaves. It looked like the basil growing on her apartment balcony. Maybe that was what a testimony was supposed to look like! She used her crayon to draw one like his.
“Please open your scriptures to Alma 32,” Sister Russo said.
They read about planting a seed in your heart and feeling it grow. Elisa looked at her drawing and frowned. Did she have a testimony? What did that even mean? She wanted to ask, but she felt too shy.
When class ended, Elisa didn’t get up right away.
“Is everything OK?” Sister Russo asked.
Elisa glanced down at her drawing again. “I’m not sure I have a testimony. I don’t really know what that means.”
Sister Russo gave Elisa a kind smile. “That’s OK. Do you remember what faith is?”
Elisa nodded. “Believing in something we can’t see?”
“That’s right!” Sister Russo said. “What are some things you believe in?”
That was an easy question. “I believe in Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. I believe They love me.”
Sister Russo smiled. “You just shared your testimony! A testimony is what you have faith in.”
Elisa thought about it. “So I already have a testimony?”
“Yes!” Sister Russo held up her scriptures. “And remember what we read today? You nourish the seed by doing things like coming to church. Then your testimony will grow stronger.”
Elisa felt like she understood. “So that’s why we drew our testimonies as plants?”
“Exactly. Because plants grow little by little,” Sister Russo said. “Testimonies are the same way. They usually don’t come all at once. They grow a little at a time.”
Elisa felt better about her drawing. When she got home, she wrote “My Testimony Plant” above her picture. She hung it up by her bed. She knew her testimony was already growing. And she wanted to keep following Jesus so it could grow even bigger!

Marcella frowned as she tried to wiggle her toes in her shoes. The shoes were too small and they hurt, but she knew she shouldn’t complain. At six years old, she knew there was no money for new ones.
The past year had been hard for the Nelson family. In May, Marcella’s tiny baby sister had died of pneumonia. And just six weeks later, her father, Eric, had been killed in an accident at work. How she missed her gentle father.
Now Marcella’s mother was struggling to support her two young daughters with her sewing. Even though she was a skilled seamstress, there wasn’t enough money. The kitchen cupboards in their small home were practically bare. No, bigger shoes just weren’t an option right now.
“Time for breakfast,” Mother called. Marcella struggled not to limp in the tight shoes as she walked to the table.
“Oh, honey.” Her mother knelt at her side. “Those shoes are too small for you, aren’t they?” Marcella could hear the worry in her mother’s voice.
“A little.” Marcella tried to sound unconcerned. “It’s all right.”
“You’re trying to be brave,” Mother said gently. “But I can see they hurt. I will try to get you some new ones soon.”
“I want new shoes too!” piped up little Arvella.
Their mother picked Arvella up in a big hug. “You know your shoes are just fine,” she said. Arvella’s shoes were hand-me-downs from Marcella. They were worn, but at least they fit properly.
Arvella stuck her bottom lip out. “I want new shoes too,” she repeated obstinately. Marcella and her mother smiled at each other. Arvella didn’t understand their difficult position, and somehow her innocence made them feel better. They talked and laughed as they ate breakfast and cleaned up.
Suddenly Mother became serious again. “Girls,” she said slowly, “we need to go to town today. I have $2.50.”
Marcella couldn’t believe it! That was a lot of money in Utah in 1905. “That’s great!” she exclaimed. She imagined the food they could buy to stock their empty shelves. Maybe she could even get new shoes!
Marcella’s smile faded when she saw the tears in her mother’s eyes. “We owe $2.50 for tithing,” she said softly. Then she gathered her girls around her. “I know we are almost out of food. I know that you need new shoes so badly, Marcella. But if we want the Lord to bless us, we must keep His commandments.”
Then she pulled out her worn Bible and turned to Malachi. She read to the girls the Lord’s promise that if they paid tithing, the windows of heaven would open to them.
“What does it mean that the windows of heaven will open?” Arvella asked.
“It means that Heavenly Father will bless us,” Mother said. “It says that we will receive such a great blessing that there won’t be room enough to receive it. I know that we need the Lord’s blessing now more than ever. I believe His promise.”
“I believe it too,” Marcella said.
“Me too,” Arvella chimed in.
“Oh, you are good girls.” Mother pulled them close. “Let’s pray together, and then I am going to take this money straight to the bishop.”
The girls and Mother knelt. Mother asked Heavenly Father for a way to get more food for her little family and shoes for Marcella. After the prayer, they all wiped tears from their eyes. Then, with a smile, Mother said, “Let’s go pay our tithing, girls!”
They walked the short distance to the bishop’s house and gave him the tithing. Although her feet hurt, Marcella enjoyed the walk and the good feeling in her heart. She knew Heavenly Father would bless them.
As they approached their home, they saw Uncle Silas and Aunt Maud pulling up. Both girls ran to Uncle Silas, and he swung them high into the air.
“Hello, Sarah,” Aunt Maud said, giving Mother a quick hug. “We just came to see how you and the girls are doing.”
“Well,” Arvella said seriously, “Marcella’s shoes are too small, but we paid our tithing and it will be fine.”
“Arvella!” Her mother gave her a stern look. “We’re fine, Maud. How is your family?”
They all went into the house and chatted pleasantly. Marcella quickly took off her tight shoes and put them away. She noticed her aunt and uncle looking around the house carefully. Aunt Maud even opened a cupboard as she visited. Too soon, their visitors had to leave.
Later that afternoon, Marcella was surprised to hear a delivery cart outside. It stopped at their home, and a delivery boy came to the door. “A delivery for Sarah Nelson,” he said.
“That’s my mother,” Marcella said.
“But I didn’t order anything,” Mother objected.
Suddenly Uncle Silas appeared in the doorway next to the boy. “It’s for you, Sarah,” he said gently. “You can put everything here on the table,” he directed the delivery boy.
The boy brought in bags of food. The girls danced around the table in delight. They hugged Uncle Silas, who quickly excused himself to go home. There was so much food! Sugar, beans, flour and cornmeal, cured meats and dried fruit—the cupboards would be full! Last of all, the delivery boy brought a small package wrapped in brown paper to the table.
After the delivery boy left, the girls approached the small package. What could be inside? First Marcella and then Arvella shook it. Then Marcella carefully pulled back the paper. Into her lap fell not one, but two pairs of shoes! Marcella picked up the largest pair and put them on. They fit perfectly, and she happily wiggled her toes in complete comfort.
Then she saw Arvella’s face. Her sister had picked up the second pair of shoes and was staring at them in delight. She looked at her mother in wonder. “I thought you said I didn’t need shoes, Mama,” she said questioningly.
“Your old shoes would do,” her mother said through her tears. “But when Heavenly Father opens the windows of heaven, you never know what might pour down.”

Years later I received a similar call late at night in a hotel in Japan. I was then the new commissioner of education for the Church. I knew that President Gordon B. Hinckley was staying somewhere in that same hotel on his separate assignment to Japan. I answered the ringing phone just after I had lain down on the bed to sleep, exhausted by having done all I thought I had the strength to do.

President Hinckley asked in his pleasant voice, “Why are you sleeping when I am here reading a manuscript that we have been asked to review?” So I got up and went to work, even though I knew that President Hinckley could give a better review of a manuscript than I could possibly do. But somehow he made me feel that he needed my help.

I want to share two more examples of integrity and honesty involving students at Brigham Young University–Idaho. I believe the simplicity and seemingly ordinary nature of these events make them extraordinary.
The first episode was described in a letter from a local business owner that I received while serving as president at BYU–Idaho.
“A girl living in one of the dorms stopped in, shopping for a tie to send to her boyfriend who is serving a mission. She took a close look at the ties and found a great looking one. We stepped over to the checkout counter, and I rang up the sale. She paid with a check and left. I went about my work, and about an hour later I looked up and saw the same girl walking into the store. She had an interesting smile on her face as she walked up to me. She handed me a check and explained that I had accidentally put the check she had written back into the sack along with the cash register receipt and the tie. I really did slip up on this one! We laughed, and I thanked her and told her that I really did admire her honesty.”
This young woman clearly exhibited integrity and honesty with other people. She is also increasing in integrity and honesty with God and with herself.